Here I Am
by toujourspurPAL
Summary: Standing on the edge, balanced finely on the threshold, waiting, weighing, considering. It’s been so long…not that I regret it, not that I care, not that it matters…why am I here? Idiot, I think, idiot, what are you doing here?" Not slash, just MPD by me.


Here I am.

_No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;_

_Am an attendant lord, one that will do_

_To swell a progress, start a scene or two,_

_Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,_

_Deferential, glad to be of use,_

_Politic, cautious, and meticulous;_

_Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;_

_At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—_

_Almost, at times, the Fool._

Standing on the edge, balanced finely on the threshold, waiting, weighing, considering. It's been so long…not that I regret it, not that I care, not that it matters…why am I here? _Idiot_, I think, _idiot, what are you doing here? _You don't want me here; nothing matters. I haven't been here for years. I never thought I would come back. Never even considered it, no, not once, not the merest possibility. I moved on years ago. I'm above this now, aren't I?

Here I am.

_I grow old … I grow old …_

_I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled._

What a little rebel I am, from this kind of family…turning around, walking out…figuratively, of course; can't I still tell the difference between the tangible world and my imagination? There _is_ a difference still; it doesn't matter because my greatest fantasies are what will someday happen in reality….Courage, no matter what anyone says, is relative. It's all relative. But the point is…the point is…what's the point? Where was I going with that...where am I…?

Here I am.

_Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?_

_I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach._

_I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each._

Ah, yes, the point- it doesn't matter. No matter what I do, it's not good enough. No matter how hard I try- still not good enough. You think I had a _choice_? You think it offered me a _choice_? There are no choices, not in this world. Every step we take is given to us with a direction in mind- I have no control, I cannot choose. You think it doesn't extend to the Sorting Hat? Of course it does. Was I ever given a choice? No. Never. And did you ever ask me? Of course not. And it's my fault, isn't it, isn't it now? And you hate that sarcastic tone, don't you, don't you now? Don't you, don't you, don't you know? Oh, I crack myself up sometimes.

Here I am.

_I do not think that they will sing to me._

Nowhere else. I'm here. I crack myself up sometimes, oh yes, I kill myself the way my mind runs. Like clockwork, most people run, like clockwork you run- wind, move- robot, aren't you, and nothing more- halt. And wait, and wait, and wait. Wind, move, halt, and go off and die in your own sodding corner of the universe, you bastard. Oh, yes, very witty, aren't I? Aren't I, you whose threshold I wait and shiver on?

Here I am.

_I have seen them riding seaward on the waves_

_Combing the white hair of the waves blown back_

_When the wind blows the water white and black._

You run like clockwork and you never are free and you die that way. So how do I run if I am so free and if I haven't yet begun to die on a daily basis like most people? Perhaps it comes with age. (Note to self: Die before forty. It makes life easier. Also, don't fall in love. Reason: Same.) And I run like a clockwork orange because yes, thank you, I _am_ just to be like a clockwork orange. And I do crack myself up sometimes; I can see the hairline cracks appearing, what goes first, the mind or the soul? Mind over matter but mind over soul? Or soul over mind?

Here I am.

_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea_

_By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown_

_Till human voices wake us, and we drown._

I would prefer mind; better to still have a mind (unlike you, whose threshold I stand upon for the very last time; yes, I mock you) than to have a soul for souls are so fragile. I don't have to feel Azkaban to know how quickly a soul can go. Please God I will never feel it. I see them at night sometimes, those untethered souls, and they do nothing but hide in the back of the wardrobe, faintly drawn pictures on my wall- _Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he, laugh kookaburra laugh, kookaburra gay your life must be- _Why after so many years am I still afraid of what's in the back of the wardrobe?

Here I am.

_Do I dare_

Real. Tangible. Waiting for someone to open the door. And nobody comes. (Admittedly I believe I remember being told to get out and never come back; admittedly I hate you; admittedly I left my telescope behind and that cost me quite a bit, I'll have you know, you who won't open the door.) Seventeen years old, cold as ice already and wondering how long it's going to take. Open the door, you bastard, it's the middle of January and I'm going to die soon the way it keeps on snowing. Open the door, you bastard, I feel so heartless sometimes and I'm going to die soon the way this war is going.

Here I am.

_disturb_

I walk away down the icy street, pushed along by cruel winds at my back- since when was April the cruelest month? Hmm. Interesting. I'm quoting Muggle poetry now. Sad, isn't it? Suddenly I feel delusional and I can't remember which way is up and I haven't got anything with me but a few Sickles and my wand and this street has become some residential Muggle avenue and you have abandoned me, you at whose house I stood, when our bond was meant to be unconditional.

Here I am.

_The universe?_

For the last time, walking away from my father's house.

**

* * *

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A/N: Well, that could be one of two people depending on how you look at it…to a simpler extent, Barty Jr. and to a greater extent Sirius…funny how they're essentially the same when you take a step back….

**The italics are from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Elliot. And I'm not telling you what the "Kookaburra" thing was from. Deal? Deal. **


End file.
